


New Tricks

by PepperPrints



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9018037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: Johnny Quick AU. In the aftermath of the particle accelerator explosion, Harrison Wells wakes up with lightning lining his bones. All of Central City is wondering who their new hero is, and Detective Joe West is determined to find an answer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Again, for the ficathon hosted by ladyofpride on tumblr! I was given Barry, Cisco, Caitlin and Tess (+ her other Earth counterparts) as options, and I decided to... overachieve and use all of them! Haha.
> 
> Writing Harry in this context was a bit tricky, since we mostly saw him at the end of his rope in s2, rather than in comfortable situations, so that was fun to play with.

Joe has always considered himself a practical person. It’s a trait that’s worked in his favour more often than not: no nonsense, but never no humor. He isn’t the sort of stickler who crushes any creative thought, but he always vouches for the tangible: that even with all the chaos in the world, there is a reasonable explanation for everything.

 

What he’s struggling with, however, is explaining this recent series of oddities cropping up around Central City.

 

Barry is smitten with them all. Scrounging up every detail he can, he lays them out to Joe with painstaking detail. To start, Joe isn’t overly concerned; he’s willing to brush it aside as Barry being Barry… like that time in high school when he spiraled off into researching American cryptids. 

 

That is, until Iris starts singing the same tune, coupled with photos on her phone to prove her case.

 

“Something’s going on,” Iris argues firmly, with Barry nodding at her back. He hates when the two of them team up like this; it almost always means trouble… it also means they’re almost always right.

 

Joe isn’t sure he’s ready for something like that.

 

\--

 

“Dr. Wells!” comes Caitlin’s cutting tone, sharp enough to be heard across the Labs. Her heels click with very firm purpose as she approaches, and it sounds more like a funeral march. 

 

“Dr. Snow,” Harry counters, smooth as he can muster, which is much smoother than Cisco’s reaction. Practically jumping, Cisco whips around, trying to cover the table -- or, more accurately, the project strewn out across the table -- with his body. It doesn’t quite work the way he hopes, even with Harry casually leaning back to help the effort.  “What can we do for you?”

 

Folding her arms across her chest, Caitlin gives them both a look. “That depends. What are you two doing?” 

 

“Working,” Cisco and Harry reply in sync, nearly tripping over each other in effort to cover their tracks. “We’re -- working…”

 

“On a…” Cisco starts, looking at Harry for guidance, which he sufficiently fails to give.

 

“...project,” Harry finishes with feigned assurance.

 

“Yeah. It’s a great project,” Cisco fumbles, gaze nervously darting between Harry and Caitlin. “Dr. Wells, why don’t you uh…” Cisco awkwardly scratches at the side of his neck. “Why don’t you tell Caitlin about it?”

 

“Oh no, Ramon, you go ahead; it’s your idea,” Harry counters, all sharp wit sufficiently melting from his consciousness with every second that Caitlin glares daggers at him.

 

And now Cisco is glaring at him too, his tone very falsely civil as he elbows him none-too-gently. “No, Dr. Wells, I think you’d be much more eloquent if you explained it,” he practically hisses. 

 

Shaking his head, Harry forces an image of modesty. “I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder,” Harry replies, which seems to be the last straw for Caitlin.

 

“Are you one to be talking about thunder?” she asks tersely. “Dr. Wells?”

 

Oh. 

 

At the same time, Cisco and Harry bumble into attempted explanations, neither of which can be audibly heard over the other. 

 

“Are both of you insane?!” she blurts, her hands raising up in disbelief. “I thought we discussed this! I thought we decided that it was a very bad idea!” 

 

Cowed for a moment, Harry can’t bring himself to meet her gaze. Cisco sheepishly looks aside as well, fussing with his hands. “Well, you thought it was a bad idea,” Cisco recalls quietly. “I thought it was pretty cool.”

 

“Dr. Wells risking his life isn’t cool, Cisco!” Caitlin insists desperately. “He could get seriously hurt!” Cisco winces a little, glancing at his shoes, and Caitlin turns her stare on Harry again. “Dr. Wells… I can understand why Cisco is doing this. But you? What do you even think you’re doing out there? Have you even thought about your daughter? Where would Jesse be if something happens to you?”

 

“Snow,” Harry begins gently, and when she seems ready to argue again, he persists. “Snow. I know. I know you’ve lost one person close to you in this building. You’re afraid of losing someone else. I understand that. But you have to understand for me, I...when I started my work here, I was trying to make something good with this place, and instead…”

 

Cringing slightly, Harry cuts himself short. Caitlin’s face softens somewhat, her head bowing, and Harry continues more quietly. “What we did here. It was supposed to help people; it hurt them instead,” Harry answers lowly. “My creation is responsible for the loss of so many lives, and what did I get out of it?” He humorlessly scoffs. “Not even a bruise to show for it -- because I don’t bruise anymore. I heal from anything that’s thrown at me.” 

 

“You don’t know that,” Caitlin argues, but her voice is softer now: quiet and more vulnerable. “You don’t know what can and can’t hurt you anymore.”

 

“If you help us, I will know,” Harry counters flatly, and Caitlin’s posture sinks. 

 

“Help you get yourself killed?” Caitlin asks hopelessly. 

 

“No,” Cisco speaks up, confidence returning to his tone. “Help us save people.”

 

Silence hangs for too long in between. Caitlin looks deflated now, more forlorn than angry -- and Harry can’t tell if that’s an improvement or not. Slowly, her shoulders sink, and she nods her head. “Okay,” she relents softly, tucking a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. “Okay.”

 

Gratitude bleeds the tension out of Harry’s body, and Cisco claps his hands together delightedly. “Sweet!” he cries eagerly, moving aside to uncover what he’s been trying to hide. “Now, you gotta check out the costume!”

 

Blinking several times, Caitlin fixes Harry with a very skeptical look, one brow raising. “Costume?”

 

\--

 

Cup of coffee in hand, Joe pours over his police report. No matter how hard he stares at it, he can’t seem to get an inch of sense out of it. Central City Bank suffers an armed robbery, and almost every eyewitness states the same illogical thing: one second the crooks were there, fully locked and loaded, and the next they were tied up like a birthday present for CCPD. One or two odd comments, Joe would blame on a sort of panicked hysteria; an adrenaline response tricking the senses into believing something surreal… but when more than half the people he interviewed mentioned gusts of wind blasting by them, and seeing bursts of lightning indoors? A blur knocking out the assailants in one fell swoop?

 

Nose crinkling, Joe sips his coffee. This is either some mass hallucination, or something very strange is going on. 

 

“Joe!” Barry calls eagerly, rushing over to his desk with a breathless grin. “Hi! Can I see your report?”

 

Raising a brow, Joe scans him up and down. “Hi,” Joe says slowly. “Did I miss something? This isn’t your case.”

 

“Well, no. Not -- officially,” Barry answers, halfway between excited and sheepish. “Look. Iris and I have been trying to track this… blur across the city.” Barry rearranges the strap of his bag on his shoulder, then reaches out for the folder in front of Joe. “Sightings are becoming more and more frequent. We really think we’re onto something and...”

 

Scooping the folder up, Joe casually holds it out of reach. “You’ve been what-now?” he asks suspiciously. “You’ve heard of this thing before?”

 

Slumping in impatient disappointment, Barry gives him a needy look that Joe is all too familiar with. “Yes! It’s the stuff you keep telling us is ridiculous? Like looking for alligators in the sewer?” 

 

“Yeah, and I can’t seem to discourage you about any of that, since you still did a ninth grade project on alligators in the sewer,” Joe reminds him dully.

 

“On the theory of it as an urban legend influencing society,” Barry corrects, though his cheeks colour mildly. “Not… proving they exist.”

 

“Really? ‘Cause I remember you begging me to pull favours with the sewage department for a private tour,” Joe teases flatly. 

 

Huffing, Barry slumps, shrugging his arms defeatedly. “Was there a blur or not?” he asks, and when Joe keeps his mouth shut, he pushes. “Let me guess: people reported seeing lightning… indoors?”

 

Joe’s face must say enough, since Barry grins brightly. “I’m right, aren’t I?” Barry asks eagerly. 

 

“If you are?” counters Joe. 

 

“If I am,” Barry answers smugly. “Then I think Iris is going to have one hell of a subject for her journalism final.”

 

\--

 

“That was amazing,” Cisco declares excitedly, hovering over Harry as he pops a sucker into his mouth. “The looks on their faces! They didn’t know what hit ‘em!” Pausing for a moment, Cisco turns a little more serious. “Literally. They didn’t know what hit them. You’re honestly that fast.”

 

Grinning faintly, Harry can’t help a swell of pride as he peels the mask off his face. Even Caitlin seems reluctant to criticize, sliding through her reports on her tablet. “I don’t know what the dark matter did, Dr. Wells, but…” She shakes her head somewhat, as if she can’t believe what she’s reading. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” 

 

“I have,” Cisco says, and as both Caitlin and Harry stare at him, he fumbles somewhat. “Come on. Man gets supernatural powers? Man becomes costumed crusader? Tale as old as time.”

 

“He’s not supernatural, Cisco,” Caitlin nitpicks. “He’s…” She pauses, realizing she isn’t sure exactly what word to use, and she flusters slightly. “...mutated.”

 

“Mutated?” Harry parrots with disdain, as if the word tastes sour in his mouth. 

 

“Well! Essentially,” Caitlin manages awkwardly, and Cisco rolls his eyes.

 

“We can do better than that,” he says sagely. “Give me time. I’ll christen you something cool.”

 

“I like Dr. Wells,” Harry says dryly, which earns him a dismissive wave of Cisco’s hand.

 

“Doctorates are for supervillains. Sorry. I don’t make the rules,” Cisco explains simply. “You can still have a title. It’s gotta be something less ominous, though.” He seems to think about it for a moment, popping a sucker out of his mouth again. “Like… Professor-Something, maybe.”

 

Staring at Cisco, Harry raises a brow. “Why does getting superpowers come with a demotion?” Harry asks suspiciously, and Caitlin rolls her eyes.

 

“You two are impossible,” she sighs, though the corners of her lips are smiling -- an expression that’s been far too rare on her these days.

 

\--

 

As impossible as it is to believe, Joe finds himself roped into Iris and Barry’s little conspiracy theory -- if it can even be called that.

 

They’ve been very thorough in their research. Iris has been digging up odd tales all around town, and Barry is doing his best to test each situation against any scientific solution. For several of these strange encounters, no rational explanation can be found -- and the most prominent of these sightings is the blur that’s racing around town.

 

“Unlike some of the others, it’s clearly a person,” Iris tells him, sliding more photos in front of Joe. “A lot of them are just odd events, but he --”

 

“Or she,” Barry interjects mildly.

 

“--interacts with people and objects explicitly,” Iris continues, tabbing to each of her articles on her laptop as she lists them off. “A little girl pulled out of the path of a runaway truck; an entire apartment evacuated when a fire gets out of control; a bank robbery stopped in seconds…” Iris grins up at him, bright and awed. “Dad, something amazing is going on here.”

 

“Dunno if that’s the word for it,” Joe says cautiously, though he’s fixated on the image on Iris’ screen: golden lightning blazing a trail out from a building that’s spitting smoke and fire.

 

How many people would have died if this… thing, whatever it is, hadn’t existed? 

 

It’s the sort of concept that makes him feel really small.

 

\--

 

Lifting the domino mask to her own face, Jesse grins at him. “Really, Dad? I thought I was supposed to be the quick one,” she taunts coyly. 

 

“Very funny,” Harry replies, snatching the mask back playfully. “I’m serious about this.”

 

“So am I,” Jesse insists, but she can’t stop smiling. “So, I hope that means we’re both in agreement on no tights.”

 

Fixing her with a look, Harry sighs. He hadn’t exactly kept this from Jesse; it would have been stupid to try. She’s too smart to have something like this hidden from her -- besides, he’s practically an open book to her already.

 

The moment his blood showed changes, he had been upfront with her about it. It took him a moment, however, to confess his intentions of how to… utilize these gifts. He isn’t sure what he expects, but her teasing is some surprise. Maybe it’s a defensive sort of reply, to try to ignore the gravity of what this means for them. The words are difficult to muster, and Harry struggles for a moment before he finds them.

 

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” Harry confesses outright.

 

Jesse sighs, looking at him in a way that can only be called fond. “You have to do this,” she realizes quietly. “Don’t you?”

 

Clenching his jaw, Harry focuses on the mask in his hands rather than looking at her. In a way, he does, though he hasn’t openly admitted that to himself.

 

“Everything that happened,” he starts slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I can’t change it. But, if I have been given the chance to undo some of that damage -- to reverse what’s been done in my name…”

 

The particle accelerator had been everything. It was supposed to be his magnum opus; his dream -- their dream, his and Tess’s -- and instead his legacy is tragedy and death. What was supposed to herald the future just crashed and burned instead. It won’t fix what happened, but if he can make some good come out of that disaster… he can’t deny that opportunity; it isn’t fair to those he hurt.

 

Trailing off, Harry finds himself struggling. Before he even knows it, Jesse does, and she’s reaching for out for him. Wrapping her arms around him, she lets her lips press firmly to his cheek. 

 

“If you asked me to stop, I’d stop,” he promises her, squeezing her tight, and he means it. “I’d do anything for you.”

 

“I know,” Jesse assures him gently. Harry isn’t sure how this became her comforting him, but these matters always seem to get turned around on him. 

 

Pulling back, Jesse smiles softly at him. She takes the mask from his hands, and puts it into place. “You’ve been my hero for a long time, you know,” she tells him. “It’s okay that I have to share you once in awhile.”

 

Harry makes a sound like a laugh, helplessly touched and endlessly endeared. “I love you, Jesse Quick,” he says sincerely, and she laughs too.

 

“I think that should be your nickname now,” she teases. “I think you’re gonna need it.”

 

\--

 

It isn’t that Joe is still unconvinced. He’s known to be stubborn, when the situation is right, but he isn’t stupid. He won’t look evidence in the eye and deny it on egotistical principle; Barry and Iris were right, and he was wrong. He can accept that.

 

Accepting it, however, still doesn’t brace him for seeing it firsthand. 

 

The fact that Clyde Mardon survived the storm that night is miraculous enough, the fact that he’d return with the power of that storm inside of him is a whole other matter altogether. There’s that crushing fear returning again: the very real fact that Joe is out of his element, that the world around him has officially changed, and he’s facing something far beyond him. 

 

It’s something even more impossible that saves his life. An entirely separate form of lightning cuts through Mardon’s storm, and everything unravels like a thread. Debris goes flying as the twister becomes undone, and Joe knows he isn’t fast enough to escape being crushed -- though luckily for him, someone else is. Arms wrap around him, and in the time it takes for him to blink, he’s out of harm’s way. 

 

Joe is hazy, heart beating wildly and a rush of adrenaline leaving him a mess, and he can’t quite process it when a figure holds him steady, carefully laying him back against the ground. 

 

“Detective,” says a shuddering voice, “are you hurt?”

 

The sound of it seems inhuman at first, then it pieces together: when Joe looks up, he’s greeted by a blurred face, and he has to blink several times before he realizes it’s not his vision that’s the problem. 

 

It’s a stupid impulse -- Joe probably couldn’t shoot straight right now, even if he tried -- but he raises his gun. “What are you?” he asks, though the question comes out more awed than demanding.

 

The man -- if he can be called that -- holds up his hands disarmingly. “I’m not a threat,” he assures Joe, voice still buzzing. “Please. If you’re hurt, I can get you to a hospital faster than an ambulance.”

 

Lowering his weapon, Joe just stares at him. “I’m… fine,” he manages, though that seems debatable. For a moment he can only stare, still not sure of what he’s seeing. “You’re real,” he says disbelievingly. “You’re really real. You saved my life.”

 

Sirens wail distantly, gradually coming closer, and when the man straightens up, Joe knows what that means. “Wait!” he tries to shout, but he’s already gone, and he’s left alone, with more questions than when he started.

 

\--

 

“He could have been hurt, Caitlin,” Harry insists, though mildly so; he knows better than to argue with her too aggressively when she’s currently patching his wounds.

 

“He could have been hurt; you  _ were _ hurt,” she reasons firmly, wiping the blood from his cheek. “I understand why you stopped, but you could have been identified by… by...” 

 

As Caitlin trails off, Cisco pipes up. “Working on it,” he calls, typing rapidly on his computer. He hits enter with deliberate emphasis, then grins. “Boom! Got him: tall, dark and handsome?” Harry gives him a look, and Cisco grins as he continues: “Detective Joseph West.” 

 

Jesse straightens up. “Wait, really?” she asks, peering at the screen over Cisco’s shoulder, then back at Harry, who less than subtly avoids her gaze.

 

“What?” Caitlin asks, looking up from her task of cleaning Harry up. “Who’s Joseph West?” 

 

“He worked on my mom’s case,” Jesse answers, since Harry’s mouth feels dry. “For… as little of a case as it was. That wasn’t his fault, though; he was probably the only person who believed anything dad said.” Squinting somewhat, Jesse tilts her head towards him. “Right? Did you know it was him?”

 

Cisco turns the screen towards them, and Harry has to admit that Cisco’s description isn’t… inaccurate. Clearing his throat, he confirms with a mild nod. “I knew who he was,” he affirms quietly, but he has to admit. “I… didn’t think you would.”

 

She shrugs in effort to seem careless, but her body is too tense. “I went over all the old notes. No one else bothered to research mom’s death,” she says, “someone had to… might as well be me.”

 

Harry smiles very weakly, almost speaking, but then he notices how Cisco keeps typing, and how his expression turns sour. “...what? What’s that look for?” Harry pries.

 

“Uh, well,” Cisco says awkwardly. “Detective West is a great cop, but the weird thing is his kids… they run a blog.”

 

Caitlin’s face also falls, and Harry seems to be the only one slow on the uptake. “A blog? Everyone runs a blog. You kids and your…” he trails off with an impatient huff. “Fine:  _ which _ blog?” 

 

“The only one that matters,” Cisco elaborates as he pulls it up. “The one documenting metahuman activity all throughout the city… with emphasis on a certain, uh… blur that rushes around and saves people on a regular basis…”

 

Harry pales, his stomach sinking, and Cisco offers a mild smile. “Told you the mask was a good idea,” he reminds.

 

\--

 

“I can’t believe you saw him!” Iris says, for probably the umpteenth time today. She doesn’t seem to grow tired of saying it, and neither does Barry.

 

“I feel fine, by the way,” Joe says dryly, gesturing with his chopsticks to his bandaged head. The kids were concerned about him, obviously, but since then they’ve been overcome with metahuman-mania.

 

“What did he look like?” Barry asks between generous mouthfuls of orange chicken, and Joe has to sigh.

 

“I told you, I couldn’t see his face,” Joe repeats, making a vague motion with his hand. “He made himself all… fuzzy. Like if you didn’t have your TV antennae lined up right, and your station came in half-static.” Barry and Iris both blink at him, and he realizes he’s showing his age. “You kids are spoiled these days, you know that?”

 

“Unbelievable,” Iris says, practically squirming in her seat. “I can’t wait to write about this.”

 

Immediately, Joe points his chopsticks at her. “Nuh-uh,” he says firmly. “No way.”

 

“What? Joe,” Barry groans disbelievingly. “You’re kidding!” 

 

“Look. I believe this, but to half of Central City, this is still a ghost story,” Joe explains sternly. “I’m not going to be the laughing stock of the station; that’ll cost me credibility. Everyone will think I’ve got my head in the clouds.”

 

Joe has spent too many years building up his reputation. The moment he starts talking about a masked man saving his life… people want to believe that kind of bias doesn’t exist, but it’ll show. No one wants the detective who believes in fairytales handling a serious case.

 

Slumping in realization, Barry’s brow furrows in thought. Iris has her lips pursed, gears almost visibly turning in her head, and she speaks up. “What about something better?” she offers slowly. “With hard evidence. What if you  _ really _ got to meet him? What if you  _ really _ got a story?”

 

Joe raises his brows, and Barry parrots the expression, equally unsure. “Are we gonna post on Missed Connections…?” Barry asks skeptically, and Iris shoves him for it.

 

“No!” Iris chides, smacking Barry’s arm. “We write a blog post: he wants to help the police? The police need some questions answered first. Leave a time and a place… and we see if he shows up.”

 

Iris gives Joe a hopeful look, and when Barry joins in, there isn’t much that Joe can do.

 

\--

 

At the Labs, all four of them hover in front of the computer screen. None of them want to be the person who speaks first, clearly, but eventually Cisco clears his throat. 

 

“Well, it’s obvious what you’ve gotta do,” he says, and Caitlin nods.

 

“Yes, you’re not going,” she says, which would be all very well, but she says it at the exact same time Cisco proceeds with: “you’re going.”

 

They both give each other looks: Caitlin wide-eyed and Cisco frowning. “What?” Caitlin gasps disbelievingly, hands pressing to her hips. “Are you kidding? Detective West has met Dr. Wells already; this is too risky.”

 

“That was years ago. Besides, he won’t know who Harry is!” Cisco argues, pointing towards his own face in demonstration. “He can go all blurry and do the Vader voice.”

 

“It’s not a Vader voice,” Harry argues under his breath. 

 

“It’s kind of a Vader voice,” Jesse persists.

 

Scoffing, Harry rolls his eyes, and Caitlin does the same -- though for other reasons. “This is the police! You don’t know if it’s some kind of trick! What if they want you arrested? Or… what if it’s even worse than that, and they want to study you themselves?” 

 

“Really? They can’t just lock him up! He’s got rights!” Cisco argues firmly. “They’re not going to go all… E. T. on him.” 

 

The two of them start to bicker, and Harry has to hold up his hands. “All right, all right,” he announces firmly, raising his own voice to silence theirs. “I think we need to accept that this sort of thing is… inevitable.” 

 

If this means the end of it… it’s the end of it. With the way all three of them are looking at him, Harry isn’t sure he can muster saying that out loud.

 

\--

 

Joe can’t decide if he really believes this will work or not. He waits restlessly, his fingers unconsciously fussing with his wedding band. Barry and Iris assured him that everything would be fine, but Joe remains cautious. This man, whoever he is, has shown that he clearly means well. Joe wants to believe he isn’t dangerous -- he saved Joe’s life, after all -- but there’s always a reasonable fear of the unknown.

 

“Detective West.”

 

It’s that same buzzing tone of voice, like he’s speaking through a scrambler. Joe turns towards the sound of it, and finds him standing a fair distance away. Safe, Joe figures, and he doesn’t advance towards him just yet.

 

“Got me at a disadvantage,” he calls back. “I never got your name. But, uh…” Joe makes a gesture towards his own face. “This whole business, gives me the feeling that you’re not gonna tell me.”

 

A gust of air whips past Joe, coupled with a flash of golden light, and the man has swapped to the opposite side of the room. It’s still surreal to see him, and Joe has to shake his head in disbelief. 

 

“Is that why you wanted to meet?” the man asks. “To learn my name?”

 

That’s a question. Shrugging slightly, Joe tucks his hands into his pockets. “If you’d give it,” Joe replies easily enough. “Mostly, I needed to know I wasn’t seeing things.” Joe considers leaving it at that for a moment, before he continues. “And, I uh… wanted to thank you, for saving me the other night.” Turning a gun on him in reply hadn’t been the kindest reaction, in retrospect.

 

The man doesn’t answer right away, so Joe dares a step forward. “That’s what you do, though, right?” he asks. “Save people?”

 

There’s a laugh in reply. The sound is odd through the vibration of his voice, making it almost eerie. “Is this an interrogation, detective?” he asks suspiciously.

 

“Force of habit,” Joe admits guiltily, finding himself grinning faintly in the corner of his mouth. “Can you blame me for wanting to know what I’m dealing with here?” Wetting his lips, Joe tries another step closer. “You. Clyde Mardon... “

 

“My similarities with Mardon end with our status as meta-humans,” the man clarifies firmly and immediately, causing Joe’s brows to raise.

 

“Meta-humans? So did you come from the same place?” Joe concludes. “How many more of you are there?” Catching himself, Joe holds up a hand, as if to stall his own voice. “Right. Sorry; not an interrogation,” he recalls belatedly. “My bad.”

 

“I understand your concern, Detective West,” he replies, tone hard to read behind the distortion. “But you don’t have to worry about me.”

 

Chuckling under his breath, Joe shakes his head somewhat. “Afraid I can’t just take your word for that,” Joe tells him honestly.

 

The man bows his head, looking more considered than Joe anticipates about this: does the idea of Joe not believing in him really tear him up so badly?

 

“What would convince you to trust me?” he asks, taking Joe off guard.

 

For a moment, he isn’t sure how to reply. He huffs out an exhale, puffing it through his cheeks, and he scratches the back of his neck. “I dunno,” he admits outright. “It’d help to have something to call you, for starters.”

 

The moment Joe says it, the man twists somewhat: his hand raising to his head. It takes Joe a second to decipher, wondering if something’s come over him, and then he wonders: does he have an earpiece? Is someone else listening in on this? He shifts where he stands, starting and stopping -- as if he’s indecisive -- and Joe has to speak again.

 

“Uh. Everything okay?” he asks cautiously, and when no answer comes, he sighs. “Look. If it’s such a big deal, you don’t gotta answer.”

 

“Johnny Quick.”

 

The reply is suddenly immediate, so much that it startles Joe somewhat. He blinks, needing a second to take it in, and that’s apparently a beat too long. “Have a good night, Detective,” he says abruptly, and then he’s gone before Joe can even return the sentiment.

 

“Johnny Quick?” he repeats to an empty room, just a little skeptical, but he smiles as he says it. It sounds funny, but he’s never seen anything like him before.

Then again, maybe that isn’t right. Suddenly, a notion comes: sharp and insistent. He may have never seen anything like this, but someone described something like it to him once… quite a few years ago.

 

\--

 

It had all been going well enough to start. Harry was confident in his abilities with his speed; he knew the science behind his new biology, and as a result he could imagine its limits and its potentials. What made him cautious, however, was the idea of this costumed persona that Cisco insisted upon. So far, it hadn’t mattered: Harry did the work, and left before anyone could think twice about it. Meeting Joe West deliberately, however, was the exact opposite of that.

 

Even so, Harry thought it was going well… until Joe cornered him with a question, and Cisco couldn’t help himself.

 

“I’ve been waiting for this…! We gotta tell him a name!” he blurts eagerly over the comm line, then it sounds like Caitlin practically shoves him aside.

 

“No, Dr. Wells! Don’t say anything!” she chastises firmly. “You’re no one!” 

 

“He’s gonna be a boogeyman unless he gets a name!” Cisco argues. “And what if someone else tries to name him something stupid? If he wants to inspire people, he needs a name!”

 

“Says who?!” 

 

Their joined volume causes the radio to squeal, and Harry cringes, cupping his ear in reply. He can’t very well tell them to be quiet, or Joe is either going to become very suspicious of who he’s talking to, or assume it’s directed at himself and be very insulted. He needs them all to either decide, or be quiet, because he can’t think with them arguing in his ear...

 

“He doesn’t need a name!” Caitlin insists. “He’s an anonymous benefactor of the city! That’s all anyone needs to hear. He might as well call himself John Doe!” 

 

“John Doe is usually for corpses,” Cisco reminds dully. “So great vote of confidence.”

 

“He’s going to be a corpse if we keep being reckless! But fine, whatever: John Doe, John Smith…”

 

Harry can’t take this. They keep arguing and arguing. He just needs someone to decide...

 

“Johnny Quick!” Jesse shouts above the two of them, clear as a bell, and all Harry can think to do is parrot her on knee-jerk instinct.

 

“Johnny Quick,” he announces abruptly, and the moment the words leave his mouth, he immediately regrets it. The speed of his retreat says that well enough.

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid...

 

The sentiment is shared, because Cisco is despairing with his hands on his temples. “Johnny Quick?!” Cisco groans, once he’s back at the Labs. “Out of anything? You threw away my masterpiece of  _ Professor Zoom  _ for Johnny Quick?”

 

“I like it,” Jesse says coyly, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. “I think it suits you.”

 

The three of them go back to bickering, and all Harry can do is huff out his exhale. Somehow, spending one night talking to Joe West was more exhausting than any crime fighting he’s done since this all began.

 

\--

 

Several years ago, Joe handled a strange case -- well, it had been strange to him; everyone else had considered it open and shut. 

 

A car accident resulted in the death of Tess Morgan, but her husband had luckily survived. While the origins of the accident were odd, any number of things could have caused their vehicle to veer off course. No one really thought too hard about it, or questioned the despaired insistence of Dr. Harrison Wells.

 

“Lightning?” Joe remembers confirming, skepticism bleeding into his tone despite himself. The weather had been clear skies all day, and nowhere for miles reported otherwise.

 

“No, not -- just lightning,” Dr. Wells persists shakily, an unsteady hand trying and failing to straighten broken glasses. “There was something in the lightning. It was a person.”

 

Frowning, Joe heaves an exhale, closing his notebook and pocketing his pen. “Doctor,” he begins softly, and Harrison shakes his head, not even letting him finish.

 

“You don’t believe me,” he declares miserably. “No one believes me.”

 

“Did you maybe see the lights of another car?” Joe tries instead. “Another driver? Someone who ran you off the road?” 

 

“No,” Wells argues desperately, voice sputtering somewhat as he tries to gesture and fails. “No. There wasn’t. I don’t know what I saw. But I saw it. It was -- it was a person and it… it killed her, it took her from me, and no one believes me!” 

 

“Hey,” Joe says firmly, trying to snap him out of what will surely become a spiral of desperation. His hand touching Harrison’s shoulder, Joe softens his voice. “Hey. I’m sorry. Really.”

 

Seeming to shrink in on himself, Wells avoids Joe’s gaze, trying to hide the expression on his face. Against all reasonable judgment, against all likely truth that this is probably just shock talking, Joe continues speaking. “I’m going to look into this for you,” he promises, and he means it. “I’ll do everything I can. Okay? Tell me exactly what you saw.”

 

Predictably, nothing came out of it. There was nothing to be found, and nothing to prove. All the evidence pointed towards an unfortunate accident, and the only thing saying otherwise was Harrison Wells’ insistent word.

 

After all these years, it could be coincidence, but what are the chances of that? Even so, it’s enough to convince Joe to pay a visit to STAR Labs -- which seems almost like a shell of what it’s meant to be.

 

The man who comes to greet him seems entirely different than the one he met all those years ago. It’s stupid to expect someone to behave the same way in their everyday as they would in such a traumatizing event -- still, it surprises Joe a little bit. Harrison Wells is all poise in a well pressed suit, smiling in the corner of his mouth as he approaches.

 

“Detective West,” Harrison Wells greets, coming down the hall to meet him. “This is unexpected; it’s been a long time. Should we be worried?”

 

Shaking his head, Joe smiles. “No, nothing like that,” Joe assures him. “This isn’t official.” Joe frowns, reconsidering that. “Well. It could be.”

 

“Delightfully vague,” Wells answers dryly, “well. Come on in.”

 

Joe catches up to Wells, walking side by side with him, and he considers his words carefully before he speaks. “I don’t wanna dig up bad memories,” Joe begins carefully. “But I was wondering. Do you remember what you told me, about the night your wife died?”

 

Wells looks like he expects something like this -- why wouldn’t he? It seems too much like a coincidence that Joe, of any member of the CCPD, would be reaching out to him again, if it wasn’t related to Tess Morgan. Harrison is tense, and very deliberately not looking at him. “I do,” he replies, with a levelness to his tone that seems very clearly forced.

 

“It surprised a lot of people that you insisted on that, even years later,” Joe continues, his voice softening. “I could never get a handle on it. Someone like you -- a genius, a man of hard facts and science, believing in what sounded like a ghost story… it never seemed to line up.”

 

“Is this going somewhere, detective?” Harrison asks bluntly, and Joe winces slightly.

 

“Sorry. I just mean that… I think something’s finally adding up.”

 

Wells stops in his tracks, and then Joe sees him as that man in the back of the ambulance again: blue eyes wide and skin pale. “What does that mean?” he asks, voice quieter than before, and the sound of it sends an ache to Joe’s chest. 

 

“I better start at the beginning…” Joe reasons, giving him a cautious look. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of… meta-humans, have you?”

 

\--

 

The sudden arrival of Joe West at the doors of STAR Labs sparked a certain sort of chaos. Cisco just narrowly avoids spilling his soda over the entire computer system, Caitlin moves as fast as her heels will take her, and Jesse just starts shoving Harry out towards the hall.

 

“Don’t panic!” Cisco orders loudly, rushing to hide the costume that’s so boldly on display. “Nobody panic!”

 

“ _ You’re _ panicking!” Caitlin points out shrilly. 

 

“Of course I’m panicking!” Cisco yells. 

 

“Dad. Dad!” Jesse says sharply, snapping her fingers to get him to focus. “You need to get your suit on.”

 

Blinking at her, Harry takes a moment to connect her meaning. “He… can’t see me in the suit,” he says in a splutter, which earns him a slap on his arm.

 

“No, dad, not that suit! A real suit; a business suit!” she clarifies. “You’re the CEO of STAR Labs, you need to look like it! You need to make a good impression or it’s going to be suspicious!” 

 

“I look fine!” Harry argues, though his disheveled hair, wrinkled black sweater, and worn jeans make him look more like a man who hasn’t bothered with sleep in the past three days. 

 

“Just -- just…!” Jesse groans in frustration, pulling at his sweater as if she intends to dress him herself right there -- before she thinks better of it. “Run!” 

 

Obediently doing as he’s told, Harry gets himself changed. Miraculously, he actually manages to make himself look presentable, and regains some measure of composure so he doesn’t trip over himself when he meets Joe West in the hallway. “Detective West,” he greets smoothly, feigning his composure with a grace that surprises even himself.

 

By the time they reach the Cortex, Cisco and Caitlin have made the area utterly inconspicuous. Picture of professionalism, his team is waiting to be formally introduced, and Joe shakes all their hands in turn. 

 

“And this is my daughter,” he says lastly, unable to help his arm coming around Jesse’s middle.

 

Joe smiles warmly, gentle in the exact sort of way that betrays his status as a father, shaking Jesse’s hand. “We met before -- though you were definitely too young to remember,” Joe says. 

 

“Is that what this is about?” Jesse asks, looking between Joe and Harry skeptically. “Is it about mom?”

 

Heaving out a breath, Joe places his hands on his hips, his head bowing. “Maybe,” he admits. “You might think I’m crazy.”

 

Joe proceeds to run them through the evidence he has. Shockingly, Iris and Barry managed to unearth some things that slipped under their radar, and they were compiling quite an extensive list of meta-human wonders. There was enough genuinely new information that none of them had to worry about pretending to be ignorant, or playing dumb. 

 

“When your wife died, you told me you saw a man in lightning,” Joe continues, pulling out the case file that’s yellowing with age at its corners. “I didn’t know what it meant back then, but the meta-human I saw the other day…” Joe clenches his jaw, shaking his head slightly. “Sounds impossible, but that’s what a saw: a man in lightning.” 

 

Despite himself, Harry finds his hand gripping down too hard on Jesse’s arm. He doesn’t realize it until her hand covers his, squeezing tightly back. “Which one?” Harry asks gravely. 

 

Scoffing slightly, Joe looks reluctant to admit it. “It doesn’t match his MO, and I didn’t get a real name,” Joe forewarns, handing Harry a picture of his own blurred figure. “But he’s calling himself Johnny Quick.”

 

\--

 

Harry has never felt more stupid in his entire life. 

 

Caitlin had reasonable arguments: they all watched Harry run, but Harry never watched himself. He has never seen himself in action; he explicitly avoids being caught on camera at all as a security measure. It sounds so painfully obvious, once it’s said out loud, and he can’t believe he’s been so foolish.

 

It’s as ridiculous as being accused of killing his own wife.

 

He runs, because it’s all that he can do. His feet carry him across the city, moving in laps, as if it’ll ease the constant pounding in his head. It doesn’t help; all it gains him is exhaustion, and he gives up on the endeavor down at the edge of the waterfront. Short of breath, Harry cringes at himself, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead.

 

It doesn’t add up: his powers came from the particle accelerator, years after Tess died. There’s no way anyone else could have been given powers like this. Harry had been the one to make that breakthrough himself. It’s impossible. 

 

Admittedly, though, they have been redefining that word quite a bit lately.

 

“Johnny Quick.”

 

Harry jumps, instinctively blurring his face as he turns his head. Joe West is approaching down the edge of the dock, and Harry can scarcely believe it. 

 

“How did you find me?” he asks, voice distorted.

 

Tucking his hands into his jacket, Joe shrugs. “Lucky break, actually,” Joe admits. “Driving by the area, and people were reporting strange lightning by the water… sounded a little familiar.”

 

Chuckling slightly, Harry can’t help but wonder at the odds. “I’m glad it’s you,” he admits, meaning it more than he initially realizes. “I could use the company.”

 

“Yeah?” Joe asks, raising one eyebrow. “That’s surprising.”

 

“Is it?” It doesn’t seem surprising to Harry, really, but he supposed Joe doesn’t entirely know the gravity of this, the combined history they have together. It feels like something has been purposefully putting them back together -- it sounds sentimental for Harry, but there’s a significance to this he can’t deny. “I trust you,” Harry tells him.

 

Tension visibly lingers on Joe’s shoulders, and he huffs out a breath when he replies. “I  _ want _ to trust you,” he answers.

 

“You can,” Harry replies immediately, with an insistence that startles himself. Somehow, this twists at him. Somehow, the idea of Joe West losing belief in him feels as finite as extinguishing a flame. Harry isn’t sure how one man’s opinion has suddenly built to so much, but he can’t make himself define it. 

 

“I don’t know that,” Joe insists, not stubborn but matter-of-fact. “I don’t know anything about you.”

 

Scoffing, Harry hangs his head. He has to admit that’s true. He’s asking a lot of Joe right now. “You know how many people I’ve helped,” he offers.

 

“And I don’t know how many you could have hurt,” Joe counters flatly, and his tone also becomes a bit desperate. “I have an old case -- years old -- and the only answer that makes sense now is you. How do you explain that?”

 

Cringing, Harry recoils visibly. “I can’t,” he answers honestly.

 

Joe sinks back slightly, scanning him up and down, and he seems to deflate somewhat. “I don’t want to hunt you,” Joe tells him, his tone stoney and cold, and the sound of it feels like knife against bone.

 

He can’t have that. The very sound of it, the threat, makes him feel sick. Smartest man alive, Harry should have some better way out of this, but he can’t. All he can do is make some desperate plea. “I didn’t kill Tess Morgan,” Harry tells him, voice raw even through the vibration, and he immediately regrets it. 

 

Joe goes still, his eyes wide, and Harry realizes his mistake. “How did you know about that?” he asks lowly. “How did you know about her?”

 

Harry can’t save this. He knows he’s already said too much, and he has no chance of recovering it. “I’m sorry, Detective,” is all he manages, and all he can do is run.

 

\--

 

Whenever Joe thinks that he’s finally getting some answers, he just ends up with more questions. 

 

If Quick killed Tess Morgan, it just doesn’t add up. Mainly, the fact that he’d murder one woman years ago, lay low for years, then return with an entirely swapped motive seems utterly bizarre. It could be that the rise of meta-humans has given him an opportunity to ditch his cover, and show himself again, but even that seems flimsy. What changed him from a murderer to a hero? Where would he have come from in the first place? None of that makes sense.

 

Joe wants to believe it isn’t him, but he can’t let his emotions cloud his judgment -- and that’s a thought. When did he suddenly get so emotionally invested in someone he’s had two vague conversations with?

 

Coming home should give him a feeling of relief, but instead he’s immediately hounded by Barry. “Joe! You’re back!” he says eagerly, barely letting him get two feet in the door. “Do you have a minute?” 

 

“I’m guessing it won’t matter if I don’t,” he replies dryly, and Barry continues as if he doesn’t hear him.

 

“Iris and I have been working,” he explains, voice picking up speed. “And I think we got something: you gotta go to STAR Labs.”

 

Giving him a look, Joe raises his brows. “STAR Labs? I’ve already been,” Joe tells him flatly, looking at Barry scrutinizingly. How did Iris and Barry get into that? It seems odd that their research would also lead them to Tess Morgan, of all things. “Since when do you two dig into my old case files?”

 

Barry blinks at him. “Old files? What are you talking about? I’m talking about the meta-humans -- the ones we confirmed identities for, anyway,” he adds quickly, holding up a folder in demonstration. “They all have something in common: they were hurt in the particle accelerator explosion! Whatever made them… what they are, I’m positive it came from STAR Labs.” 

 

What?

 

Snatching the folder from Barry, Joe immediately digs in. Barry has compiled all the names in a row, highlighting the medical reports and newspaper clippings. He’s right: each and every one of them, in some way or form, were hurt that night.

 

He feels like a damn idiot.

 

The next day, he storms in. He knows his temper is getting the better of him, but he can’t help it. Did he get so lured in by Harrison Wells’ despair? Was he so focused on seeing him as a damaged widower, that he lost the truth? 

 

“Detective,” Harrison says, his eyes wide behind his glasses as Joe stalks into the Cortex. “Can we help you?”

 

Scowling, Joe slams Barry’s folder on the desk, throwing it open. “You tell me,” Joe counters coldly. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

 

The accusation seems to still Cisco and Caitlin into silence, and neither of them dare to move. Eyes narrowing, Harrison’s tone is oddly detached. “You’ll have to be more specific,” he replies, though his eyes won’t leave the folder, taking in every single name written out across the front page. 

 

“You really had me going, you know?” Joe says bitterly. “I didn’t even think you’d be in here… doing the whole mad scientist routine.” Harrison starts to speak, and Joe doesn’t let him. “So what happened? Something crazy killed Tess Morgan; that’s a fact. But what comes after that? Did you find it after all? Test and dissect it? Try to duplicate it?” 

 

“Detective, please,” Harrison tries, holding out his hand cautiously, but Joe won’t be stopped.

 

“Your machine,” he says icily, pointing to the building around them. “Your machine made the meta-humans. All of them. Didn’t it?”

 

“Detective, if you’ll please calm down…” Harrison asks, though he’s far from a picture of calmness himself.

 

“Did it or not?” Joe demands, and Harry shifts tensely where he stands.

 

“Yes -- no. That wasn’t its intended purpose,” Harrison insists, clearly frazzled, dragging his hand back through his messy hair. “That was a side-effect, but that was never my intention…!” 

 

“What are your intentions, Doctor?” Joe asks harshly. 

 

“My intentions are to help people!” Harry tells him, voice raised, “why do you never believe me when I tell you that?”

 

Whatever argument Joe has on his tongue dies. The oddity of the statement sticks out, giving Joe pause, and his eyes narrow. “Come again?” he asks slowly, wheels turning, and Harry’s face turns pale. 

 

Squirming somewhat, Harry’s voice picks up speed and he won’t look Joe in the eye. “I -- I’ve said that in every statement following the explosion,” he explains, though his tone wavers too much. “That’s what I mean. No matter how many people want to believe otherwise.”

 

Shoulders slumping, Joe has to stare at him. “Really,” he says quietly, disbelieving. “Is that it?” Harry is quiet, and Joe folds his arms across his chest. “Are you sure there’s… nothing else you wanna tell me?”

 

For several seconds, only silence answers him. Harrison stands, tense and firm, and his voice is flat when he finally answers. “No,” he tells him firmly. “There’s nothing else.”

 

Typical. Disappointment feels heavy in his gut, and Joe nods his head. “Okay,” he says simply, picking up the file folder again. “Okay...”

 

Very casually, but also very deliberately, Joe lets the folder slip. A thick stack of papers comes tumbling down and Harrison’s reflexes betray him. Joe barely even blinks, and Harry is beside him, narrowly catching the folder from becoming a complete mess across the floor of the Cortex.

 

There’s no verbal reply right away, but Harry’s face says enough. He looks just barely short of horrified, but Joe just grins wryly at him.

 

“Well,” Joe says dully. “Hi, Johnny.”

 

“For the record,” Cisco declares abruptly, raising his hand like a student in a classroom. “I wanted him to be Professor Zoom.”

 

\--

 

“Please, let me explain,” Harry begs, hands tightly clasped together. 

 

“I’m gonna let you,” Joe replies, reclining back in Cisco’s chair, though he looks far from impressed. “If I wasn’t, I’d be taking you in right now.”

 

Comforting. That thought doesn’t do much for Harry’s already frazzled nerves. He paces slightly, his hand pressing to the back of his neck. He opens and closes his mouth several times, before he settles on an answer. 

 

“You understand why I couldn’t tell you?” he starts nervously.

 

“I do,” Joe says patiently. “But then again, you kept talking about trust while you lied to my face like I’m a damn fool…”

 

“I didn’t lie!” Harry insists quickly. “I was very careful not to actually lie.”

 

“Oh, that makes it better,” Joe drawls sarcastically, and Harry winces.

 

“What did you expect me to do?” Harry asks bluntly, holding out his arms. “Did you expect me to just -- trust that you’d let me keep doing as I please? Without locking me up or testing me?”

 

“Like E. T.,” Cisco chimes in.

 

“Like E. T.!” Harry agrees loudly, on pure impulse, before he realizes the ridiculousness of that statement. He gives Cisco a look, and mutters under his breath. “Please stop helping,” he tells him.

 

“Yeah, good idea,” Cisco agrees, nose crinkling, and he places his hands on Caitlin’s shoulders to usher her off. “I’m gonna go. We’re all gonna go.”

 

“Good luck,” Caitlin mouths dramatically, and then they’re gone, leaving Joe and Harry staring at each other in awkward silence. 

 

Joe heaves a sigh, leaning forward and shaking his head. “You didn’t kill your wife,” he says simply, stating it as fact rather than a question, but Harry replies all the same.

 

“No,” Harry answers quietly.

 

“What did?”

 

“I don’t know.” Harry catches his lower lip beneath his teeth, digging into soft flesh tensely. “I don’t know,” he repeats miserably.

 

The gravity of that cuts through to him. Harry wants to believe he made peace with losing her -- as much as he can be expected to -- but this has practically ripped the wound open again. He feels absolutely helpless all over again. He’s been given this chance, these incredible abilities, and he’s still powerless. 

 

Joe stands up, collecting his coat from the back of the chair. “Then you’re going to need all the help you can get,” he reasons simply.

 

Taken off guard, Harry just blinks for a moment. “What?” he asks, and Joe looks at him like he’s being stupid.

 

“I promised you that I’d help you,” Joe reminds seriously. “That may have been a long time ago, but I still gave you my word.”

 

Harry finds himself at a loss for what to say. He just stares at Joe for a moment, touched in a way he can’t properly express, so he bows his head to hide his face. “Thank you, Detective,” he answers quietly, which is a vast understatement for his gratitude. 

 

\--

 

Like a rolling stone, the reality of meta-humans in Central City becomes impossible to deny. What was once whispers around the station is now a fully fledged taskforce, and Joe is grateful to be part of it. Even when it’s accepted a reality, people seem equally divided. Joe can’t be surprised, but he does find himself annoyed. 

 

“He’s going to put us all out of a job,” is the common argument. Joe has to roll his eyes at that, though he does understand the fear -- sometimes it manifests more childishly than that, which shouldn’t be any shock either.

 

“Do you think he’s fast at everything?” The very thinly veiled crude jibe grates more than Joe expects. “You know: Johnny Quickie?”

 

“Guys,” Joe groans in exasperation. “Knock it off, will you?” 

 

All it earns him is a chuckle in reply. “Sorry. Don’t mean to insult your boyfriend, Joe,” he teases. 

 

Joe gives them a look, and they all shut up right away. Maybe it’s his own fault: he has been caught on camera with him more than once, giving the newspapers an opportunity for a nice spread page of Harry saving his sorry ass, and he made the mistake of making a statement in defense of his character… it’s all steamrolled since then, and there’s no point in Joe trying to resist it. It’s gotten him a reputation: if you’re looking for Johnny Quick, Joe West is the person to ask.

 

It hasn’t backfired yet… though it sounds like it could be a matter of time.

 

“Right. You’re one to talk. Like you’re getting any,” Joe retorts blandly. 

 

But the idea lingers for longer than it should.

 

\--

 

“We’re going out, Dr. Wells,” Caitlin says, after Harry peels his mask off his face. “Do you want to come along?”

 

“Oh,” Harry says, a bit tersely, genuinely taken aback for a moment. The differences between their ages, for one, plus a matter of professionalism, has likely kept them from asking him anything like this before. Harry isn’t sure how he feels about it, and he isn’t given much chance to decide.. “I… have plans already.”

 

“I’ll go instead!” Jesse speaks up, grinning widely, and Harry gives her a look.

 

“Uh-uh,” he intones negatively. “No way.” When Jesse makes a face, he scowls back. “You’re not even old enough to drink.”

 

“I can still go out!” she argues, hands moving to her hips. “If you’re so worried, you can come chaperone! But…” Jesse pauses, looking at him slyly. “That’d be dropping your date with Detective West.”

 

“Date!” Harry scoffs, as if the notion is utterly absurd. “Don’t be ridiculous.  _ Date _ .” He rolls the word around in his mouth, as if he’s never said it before. “Of all the foolish--…! I’ve never dated anyone!” 

 

That gets all three of them giving him an odd looks, and Harry tries to swallow his tongue. 

 

“Bye, have fun,” Harry says swiftly, and he races from the building before anyone can ask about it.

 

\--

 

Over the course of several weeks, there isn’t many breakthroughs to be had. Joe finds it discouraging enough for himself; he can’t imagine how Harry feels by comparison. Still, it isn’t entirely a wasted effort. Bit by bit, Joe is discovering more and more about Harry as he works with him -- and likewise, Harry seems to be picking up things about Joe.

 

That’s becoming obvious when Harry arrives with food, and he doesn’t even need to confirm Joe’s order anymore.

 

It sounds like a simple thing -- but that’s part of the charm, really. It’s such an easy, domestic piece of knowledge, and Joe finds himself oddly touched. 

 

“What?” Harry asks, sounding ruffled when he catches Joe staring at him.

 

“Nothing,” Joe says quickly, glancing away before he can embarrass himself. “Thanks for dinner.”

 

“Mh,” Harry intones idly, either not thinking twice about it -- or maybe he’s avoiding Joe too. “You’re welcome.”

 

Joe’s shoulders sink slightly, and he clears his throat. “So. What all, exactly, can you do?” Joe asks, more curious than he wants to admit.

 

“Well, there’s everything you’d expect from an increased velocity,” Harry replies, which is apparently supposed to mean something to Joe. Joe just stares at him, so Harry sips his soda as he elaborates. “I have super-speed, and on top of that: an accelerated healing. I can do this,” his voice vibrates in demonstration, then his body follows suit: “and this.”

 

“Yeah, that was a nice trick,” Joe mutters dryly, and Harry slows his body down again, smirking in the corner of his mouth. “Doesn’t seem to matter if you’re an old dog or not.”

 

Snorting, Harry gives him a look. “I’m not that old,” he counters.

 

“You’re pretty old,” Joe taunts slyly. 

 

“Not too old for new tricks,” he points out. “Not too old to change.”

 

That seems to be more grave than Harry originally intends. He suddenly becomes very interested in his food, dodging Joe’s eyes again. Very unsubtly, he changes the subject, but Joe doesn’t call him out on it. “Super-speed has a variety of creative uses,” he continues, taking a bite of his burger. “We’re still learning the limits of my abilities.” 

 

Humming thoughtfully, Joe nods his head, unwrapping his own burger carefully. “But you haven’t seen anyone else with super-speed? No other metas?” 

 

Harry shakes his head. “So far, every meta-human has been unique,” he replies. “And the technology that created them was a pipe dream all those years ago. I don’t know where this other speedster could have possibly come from.”

 

As he says it, his face darkens. Harry’s eyes seem unfocused, as if he’s somewhere else, and the sight of it makes Joe’s chest twist. “Hey,” he says, bringing Harry back to focus. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

 

“Mh,” Harry intones, seeming doubtful as he picks at his fries. “I’m sure.” 

 

Suddenly, Harry takes a very deliberate exhale, as if building up his nerve. “Joe,” he starts abruptly, appearing confident, but all that ego seems to deflate the moment Harry makes eye contact with him. Instead, he fumbles somewhat, his gaze lowering back to his hands. 

 

“I appreciate,” he starts slowly, as if it’s a physical effort for him to get the words out. “Everything you’ve been doing.”

 

Joe smiles, unable to help being endeared, and he chuckles quietly. “You’re welcome,” he replies. “Least I can do after you’ve saved me…” Joe frowns, thinking about that. “How many times?”

 

“Four,” Harry supplies, too easily. “Five if you want to count last week. It’s debatable, though. You may not have died. Or you might have. Hard to say.”

 

Joe gives him a surprised look. “Yeah. But who’s keeping count?” he drawls, smirking around the straw of his drink. 

 

\--

 

Harry is keeping count, and he’s at six by next week. 

 

He told Joe to stay out of it, but when matters involve his kids, he gets understandably upset. If someone tried to tell Harry to back down when someone threatened Jesse… well, that would have been out of the question. This meta-human had known Iris and Barry when they were young, and with his newfound strength, he threatened them both.

 

Naturally, Joe isn’t going to sit on the sidelines of this, but it doesn’t stop Harry from berating him about it. Especially when he narrowly saves Joe from an entire building coming down on his head.

 

“The description the kids gave me didn’t make Tony Woodward sound like the type of man who’s smart enough to leave a trap like that,” Joe mutters, dusting debris from his shoulders, and Harry narrows his eyes.

 

“And apparently you’re not smart enough to stay out of this,” Harry counters sharply. “What were you doing here?”

 

“Oh, I’m an idiot for doing my job now?” Joe asks, brows raising. “I’m just supposed to hand in my badge and let you do everything?”

 

Harry sighs, his jaw tightening. “That isn’t what I meant,” he clarifies irritably. “I told you I’d be here. Do you still not trust me?” 

 

“I do,” Joe answers, with an immediacy that would be touching if they weren’t both yelling at one another. “But these are my kids -- what do you think I’m gonna do? Do you think I’m gonna stand by and watch someone I care about get hurt? Would you do that?”

 

“I care about  _ you _ !” Harry counters, voice rasping and harsher than he means for it to be. “And you’re insistent about putting yourself in danger -- so,  _ yes _ , I’m familiar with the idea!” 

 

The moment the words leave him, Harry realizes what he’s said, and he feels suddenly tongue-tied. Joe’s eyes are wide, then his expression softens into something weaker. As if sensing Harry’s nerves, his voice turns stern. “Don’t run,” Joe tells him firmly, stepping closer, and Harry, against all nervous instinct, obediently holds his ground.

 

One worn hand cups the back of Harry’s neck, thumb rubbing at the base of Harry’s skull. When Joe leans in, lips pressing against his own, Harry feels his body slacken with something like relief. Sighing far too eagerly, his hands grip tight fistfuls of Joe’s jacket, pulling him closer as he pushes his tongue into Joe’s mouth. He’s wanted this, he’s wanted to do this -- so badly -- and now Joe is laughing at him. 

 

Pulling back to break the kiss, Joe touches Harry’s lips with his fingertips. “Hey. Easy,” he laughs, and only then does Harry realize how his body is excitedly buzzing, vibrating under Joe’s hands. 

 

“Sorry,” Harry says quickly, speaking in a mumble against Joe’s mouth. It takes a deliberate effort to keep his body still, and he feels hazy. “I should--.. Ah…”

 

“Woodward,” Joe prompts kindly.

 

“Woodward!” Harry repeats in realization. “I better deal with that. Yeah. But later.” Harry moves his hand, pointing at himself, then Joe, then back at himself again. “...later.”

 

“Looking forward to it,” Joe teases, smirking at him, and Harry leaves him with a gust of air.

 

\--

 

Later, Harry is pushing Joe down flat against his own mattress, kissing him and touching him and moaning into his mouth. There’s the very rare opportunity of an empty house and he can’t help but seize it. Impatient hands have worked his clothing up and off, and Joe barely manages to get his words out between Harry pushing their lips together.

 

“Maybe -- slow down?” Joe laughs, more teasing than seriously suggesting. It’s been a long time for him -- and likely for Harry too, but that doesn’t appear to give him any cause for concern. 

 

“You know me better than that,” Harry counters, his voice low. There’s something different in his disposition: he lacks his awkward fussing, seeming to have discarded it along with his clothes at the foot of Joe’s bed. Instead, he’s eager but he’s confident, hands braced on Joe’s shoulders as he straddles his hips.

 

Joe loses all motivation to argue right then and there. Harry gets him ready, takes him in, and Joe barely bites back a curse. Harry laughs, of all things -- an almost delirious sort of sound, and he slowly moves down on him, taking him deeper and deeper, until they’re pressed flush against one another..

 

Arching his back, Harry leans over him, lips pressed to Joe’s jaw. “Want to know another nice trick?” he asks breathlessly, and it takes Joe a minute to recall the reference. Admittedly, his mind is a little hazy, and he’s thinking about other things than a conversation they shared over fast food.

 

Harry squirms, then decides to show him without waiting for an audible reply. For a second, it’s hard to even piece together what’s happening, then Joe  _ does _ actually curse, blunt nails digging into Harry’s hips. Harry laughs again, his voice shuddering with the same vibration that he’s running through his body as Joe thrusts up into him.

 

“Yeah?” he prompts, though Joe doesn’t know how Harry expects him to have any air in his lungs to answer. Joe just groans, his hands squeezing down on Harry’s hips, and Harry hums in reply. “Yeah, like that…”

 

\--

 

Meta-human menaces? No worry. Armed guards? The laws the physics themselves? Harry barely needs to even pay it mind anymore. However, the one thing left in the world that horrifies him is this: sitting tensely at a dinner table with Joe West’s family. The worst of it is how Joe’s tucked away in the kitchen, leaving the rest of them awkwardly waiting in a rarely broken silence.

 

Jesse is supposed to be his moral support, but she seems to distracted being suspiciously friendly with Joe’s youngest son. The eldest, however, is almost too eager to talk to Harry and yet somehow too shy at the same time. He keeps starting and stopping his conversation points, clearing his throat and only speaking up with Iris elbows him.

 

“Dr. Wells,” he almost croaks, coughing in effort to find his nerve. “I just want to say it’s -- amazing, what you do. I don’t just mean Quick… before all that. Your work was inspirational to me.”

 

“That’s very kind of you,” Harry answers mildly, though frankly the praise is giving him more concern than assurance. Barry is a fan, and now his foster father is dating his scientific and super-powered idol. That’s certainly going to raise the bar of expectations even higher than usual. 

 

“Yeah!” Barry agrees, just to agree, and he nervously rubs his thumb against his fork. “I was wondering, maybe, if… you know, after dinner you could… signmybook?”

 

Harry blinks. The word comes out all in one hurried blurb, and Harry can’t make himself decipher it. “What?” he asks, inelegantly, which gets Jesse kicking him under the table. There’s plenty of that to go around, since Iris is kicking Barry too.

 

“Book! My book,” Barry manages awkwardly, as if he’s forgetting how words work. “Your book. My copy -- of your book. The book that you wrote. Maybe you could… sign it, maybe, and we could talk about your work since that’s a dream of mine too, you know, just… stuff like that.” Clearing his throat nervously, Barry quickly grabs his glass of water and swallows the whole thing in one long swig. 

 

“...okay,” Harry answers stiffly, and when Jesse elbows him he adds, “love to,” but he cringes the moment the words leave his mouth.

 

“I’d love an interview,” Iris chimes in, much more smoothly than Barry. She’s grinning at him: as if she’s all too aware that Harry’s too frazzled, too eager to make a good impression to say no. “While we’re on the subject.”

 

Harry sinks, a bit lost, and all he can do is consent. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Sounds great.” It absolutely does not sound great, but what choice does he have? She’s as persistent as her father is… seems obvious where she gets it from. It’s endearing, really, but it just means even more people now know how to get the better of him.

 

“Food’s up,” Joe announces as he enters the dining room, and Harry swells at the sight of him. There’s something about the look of him like that: how he looks with his sleeves rolled up, using oven mitts to carry in his home-cooked specialty. It’s domestic, simple, and exudes a certain kind of peacefulness. 

 

“Oh thank God,” Barry says all in one gasp, as if eager for the excuse to occupy his blathering mouth. Harry is grateful too, thought for more reasons than one. 

 

Then there’s something darker that comes into his mind, unbidden: he knows he’d do anything to protect this, with every inch of himself -- no matter what it takes, and no matter what lengths he has to go.

 

\--

 

“What do you mean?” Joe asks, voice raising despite himself. “What happened?”

 

It’s lulled him into a false sense of security, thinking of Harry as untouchable. By normal means, sure, no simple crook is going to hurt him; they wouldn’t stand a chance. But here, seeing Caitlin fussing over Harry’s beaten body, he feels like an idiot for somehow doubting that this could ever happen.

 

“He’s back,” Harry croaks weakly, sounding punch-drunk, and Caitlin gently shoves him back down into bed.

 

“Don’t try to talk,” Caitlin orders gently, working his costume open -- cringing to find it sticky with blood. “You don’t know that yet.”

 

“Know what?” Joe presses, carefully hovering at the edge of where he’s safely permitted. “What did this to him?”

 

“The same thing that killed Dr. Morgan,” Cisco explains quietly, and Caitlin whips her head around.

 

“Don’t -- say things like that,” she says, more entreating than arguing. “We don’t know -- he’s already hurt and this is scaring him!” 

 

It’s scaring her too, Joe can see it on her face. She’s not doubting this, not at all -- that’s clear on her face. She knows it’s real, but she doesn’t want it to be. She’s steady with her hands, like any good doctor would be, but she’s worrying her lip and her eyes move too quickly. The reality of that threat terrifies her: it terrifies all of them.

 

“It’s him,” Harry insists, his head lolling to one side as he tries to meet Joe’s gaze. “I know it’s him.”

 

One look at Harry’s face says enough, and Joe doesn’t even need any more convincing. 

 

“Don’t talk, please,” Caitlin almost begs, and she turns weak eyes back towards him. “Detective, can you go -- please? Just until I get him taken care of.” 

 

Joe relents easily enough, and with Caitlin’s permission, he visits later in the evening. When he returns Harry is showing no signs of resting. He’s sitting upright in his hospital bed, fingers toying with the domino mask, and Joe sighs softly. 

 

“What’s this mean?” Joe asks outright, and Harry shrugs stiffly.

 

“I have to stop him,” Harry says, firmly and without hesitation. Harry's brow furrows, and he won’t look Joe in the eye. “He… talked about her, Joe -- he was…” Cutting himself short, Harry bends his head, tongue working against his cheek. “He didn’t want to kill her; he was trying to kill me.”

 

Joe narrows his eyes, trying to meet Harry’s stare and failing. “What does that mean?” he asks. “Why would he want you dead?”

 

“I don’t know!” Harry snaps, frustration cutting through him. “I don’t know. But he could hurt someone else, and I need to be able to stop it.” 

 

“Pretty singular talking there,” Joe observes, tilting his head to one side. “You’re not fighting this alone, you know; you have a team.”

 

Shaking his head, Harry laughs mirthlessly. “My team. Cisco and Caitlin. My daughter. You. More people who I could watch die?” he asks coldly. His smirk is there, but his eyes seem glassy. 

 

“You think any of them wanna watch you die?” Joe counters bluntly. “You didn’t get this far on your own, you know.”

 

Harry is quiet, his head still bowed, and Joe reaches out for him. His hand cups the back of Harry’s neck, his thumb gliding along the shaved edge of his hair. “Hey,” he says, more softly than before. “We can do this. But you can’t…” Joe trails off, realizing what territory he’s about to enter, and the moment isn’t lost on Harry. He at last lifts his head, curiosity written across his face, and Joe has to finish.

 

“When things got scary, I had someone I cared about run out on me once already,” Joe concludes, his throat feeling tight. “I can’t have you do that too. You need to stick around, and we need to figure this out together. Okay?” 

 

Harry lips part, and he bows his head, nodding quietly as he leans into Joe’s hand. “Okay,” he repeats firmly. 

 

Relief drags a sigh out of Joe and he grins faintly, pressing his lips to Harry’s temple. “You’ll kick his ass, Quick,” he assures him, startling a laugh from Harry’s mouth.

 

“With your help,” Harry adds coyly.

 

“Naturally,” Joe agrees mildly. 

 

Harry glances up, his hand coming to touch Joe’s face. His fingertips touch the edge of his brow, then slide slowly down the line of his jaw. “Thank you,” he says.

 

“Don’t mention it,” Joe replies.

 

\--

 

In the flurry of a storm, Harry stands ready for the race of his life. Lightning, unique and stronger than the storm, waits for him on the other side of Central City, and he can either run towards it, or away from it.

 

The direction he plans to take should be obvious.

 

“Quick!” 

 

Joe’s voice is audible even through the din. He’s pushing past the police blockades. Crowds formed once the reports started rolling in: everyone wanted to see Johnny Quick fighting for his life, tangled up with some mysterious speedster who boasted twice his speed, and zero of his valor. Whatever scorn he has for Harry, he seems more eager to settle it privately: so he ran, inviting him to follow, and leaving Harry bare seconds to catch his breath, before he decides whether or not to pursue him. 

 

“Are you all right?” Joe asks, and Harry just grins faintly. 

 

“Better, after seeing you,” Harry replies, “ready to kiss everything better? Coming from you, I bet it’d work like a shot of morphine.”

 

“Don’t be a smartass,” Joe says, and what should be teasing sounds serious. He touches Harry’s cheek, thumb grazing his split in his lip that’s already healing. He scans Harry up and down, concern written plainly across his face. “You’re not letting him go, are you?” 

 

There doesn’t seem any point in replying. The corner of Harry’s mouth curves slightly, and Joe just sighs. He takes a moment, takes a breath, and his tone turns serious. “Okay,” he says firmly, both hands cupping the sides of Harry’s face.

 

Joe smiles, leaning up, and Harry lets his eyes closed as he’s kissed. Utterly uncaring for the crowd around them, Joe pulls him close, and it’s enough to make him weaken. Harry sighs softly, letting his lips part as Joe pushes his tongue inside his mouth. It’s a slow, shallow thing, and Harry wants it drawn out for as long as he can muster… but he forces himself to let it break, lingering with their foreheads pressed together.

 

“Like I told you,” Joe reminds. “Kick his ass, okay?” 

 

Despite himself, Harry finds a chuckle breaking out of him. “Okay,” he promises. When he pulls back, looking Joe in the eye, taking in his whole expression, he can’t help himself: “I love you.”

 

Joe looks startled, just for a second, then his eyes soften. 

 

“I love you too, Johnny Quick,” he tells him, smiling wide and full of hope. “Now, run.”


End file.
